


Hold Me Tight, Hold Me Fast

by gotfanfiction



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Cuddles, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Hurt/Comfort, Protective Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Purring, They love each other, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:20:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26455525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gotfanfiction/pseuds/gotfanfiction
Summary: Yennefer appreciated the way people would part for her, like water.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 12
Kudos: 93





	Hold Me Tight, Hold Me Fast

**Author's Note:**

  * For [annablume](https://archiveofourown.org/users/annablume/gifts).



> Another request done! This was fun to write :>

Yennefer would look at Geralt, sometimes, when they were together, out among people, and wonder  _ how, _ exactly, he could look at any of these petty, ungrateful mortals and smile at them. How could he look at them and see anything but the worst of what they were capable of? She knew he'd been met with fire and blade often enough instead of payment earned, met with sneers and outright vitriol rather than thanks. 

She would consider these things, with her Witcher curled up beside her, keeping her bed warm, and perhaps her heart, as well. She would run soothing fingertips across his brow when nightmares clouded at the edges of his mind, and the deep well of trust she was met with each time astounded her.

*--*

She had come to this place seeking information, hoping to find an old book that may or may not contain the ingredients for a potion she wanted. It seemed promising, but it would also inevitably be dull, thorough, work, needing more of her attention than she would otherwise give. 

Yennefer appreciated the way people would part for her, like water, somehow knowing, instinctively, that she was powerful. It always brought satisfaction to the part of her who had grown used to being unnoticed or disregarded. It felt like respect, even if it was a shade too close to fear, sometimes. 

A breeze, hair shifting around for a moment, and she looked up to see people scrambling to get out the way of someone awfully familiar, and that was fear, proper, compelling them away. She could tell that he knew that, could probably smell it even if he couldn't just see it with his eyes. 

He hated it. Soft-hearted White Wolf, Geralt's face appeared to be carved from stone, set in a fierce glower, but if you got close enough you could see the cracks where he bled through, old and tired and weathered. Yen had gotten  _ very _ close, and often. She was about to do it again, Geralt seeming to always know she was near, turning to move to her.

“Yen,” and she loved his voice, low and rough, a hint of softness just for her, only ever for her. “It’s good to see you.”

“Yes, it’s good to see you, as well.” He offered his arm to her, awkward but trying, and she accepted it, let herself be steered around for a bit. Only for him. Only ever for him. “I’m assuming you’re here for work? Some monster needs killing, people in need of saving?”

A chuckle, brief, so quiet she could barely hear it. “Of course. And you? What business brings you to a place like this? Not really the sort of place you enjoy.”

He did know her well enough to guess at her business, but she knew he liked it better when she told him, so she did. They walked and talked, speaking about what had happened since the last time they had run into each other, and Geralt was being especially affectionate today, for him, anyways. 

She pursed her lips, trying not to let it slip how much she enjoyed it, her body turning into his without a thought, his nose buried in her hair for half a second, lips carefully laying a kiss to her head. Yen looked up into his face, and saw that his cracks ran a bit deeper than they normally did, eyes bruised, tired. 

Her Witcher had run himself into the ground, the way he usually did, and she had been so distracted by the sight of him she hadn’t noticed until just now. But her business was time sensitive, and likely so was his, so she pressed a kiss to his lips, to his cheek, regretful, and they arranged to meet properly the next day.

*--*

She hadn’t found what she had wanted, had discovered, instead, a paltry sort of trap laid for her by some idiot admirer. Not that the imbecile would care for her any longer, after she’d ripped her way through his pathetic library, smashed up his substandard potions, fury boiling hot under her skin. 

As if Yennefer couldn’t snap through a glamour that weak in her damn sleep, as if she could not have made one better herself. The only thing that cooled her temper was the thought of seeing Geralt, letting his torn up hands soothe her body as well as her spirit.

She portalled into her room, frustrated that more than a month of leads had all turned out to be false, that she would have to start from almost the beginning. She hated back tracking. It was a waste of her time, no matter that she was all but immortal.

Yen decided to take a very long bath, spent more time than usual making certain her skin was petal soft, hair as fine as silk, and she chose to leave her cosmetics in their little jars, as a treat. Geralt appreciated her always, but seemed to like her best bare faced, thumbs tracing her lips and eyes and cheeks. 

She draped herself artfully over a seat, robe as silky as her hair, pale fabric standing out against her skin, and settled in to wait. 

*--*

He was late. And not just Geralt ‘lost track of time looking at a gorgeous horse’ late, he was overdue by hours, and Yen was worrying over it, wishing she had asked him for more details as to what he had been contracted to hunt, where he was going, what he would have to take to combat the creature. 

She was just about to step out, feet shoved into her boots, a coat tossed over her robe when a thud sounded at the door, and she pulled it open frantically, expecting to find her lover bleeding or maimed, but as she pulled him inside he didn’t appear to anything but whole and hale. 

He was swaying on his feet. She wanted to bathe him, but just stripped his armor off instead, helping him out of his boots while he desperately clung to her shoulders. He must have been tired beyond belief. 

Yen dragged him over to the bed, gently pushed him to sit and then lay down, took off her coat and her own boots, crawling up to sit against the headboard, so that Geralt could curl himself into her side, face in her neck, legs thrown over hers. 

She pet his hair, crooning nonsense at him, the tension slowly bleeding from his frame, and the sigh he let out could have started an avalanche. His hands gripped her a shade too tight, not that she cared in the slightest, especially not as Geralt shifted, almost asleep, and started purring.

Never in her life would she have guessed that Witchers could purr, and hers rarely did, a bass rumble that reverberated from deep in his chest, and she took it as a sign of trust, that he felt safe with her.

Yen let herself hold him even closer, dropping kisses to his brow in between her little mutterings, gently scratching at the scruff on his face, until he had relaxed all the way into sleep, purring all the while. 

She closed her eyes, let the sound soothe her as well, let herself follow Geralt into slumber. 

**Author's Note:**

> Say hi on twitter! I promise I don't bite ;] @gotfanfiction


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